Five Meals
by callafallon
Summary: Five short Wilson/Vanessa stories set during and after the events of Daredevil
1. Chapter 1

Vanessa Marianna was happy.

Not the type of daily happiness that she was used to, but a type of joy that shivered through her body, starting in her chest and radiating outward. This couldn't be love. It was too quick. She'd met Wilson Fisk less than a fortnight earlier, only slept with him last night, and yet she couldn't imagine being without him.

"You've got it bad," she said to her own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Wilson's shirt from last night was folded on the counter, and Vanessa decided to wear it. Her dress was hanging up, fresh from some overnight dry cleaners courtesy of his invisible staff, but getting dressed in it would mean that last night was officially over.

She didn't want it to be over. It had been too special. The fact that a man as powerful as Wilson still could be so in touch with his emotions and trusted her with them, it was intoxicating. Men, in her experience, hid their feelings from everyone including themselves.

Wilson wore his heart on his sleeve. That was intriguing enough to get her to go out with him the first time. What she realized, after seeing him in business mode, was that it was not his default state. He could be just as closed off as other men, but he allowed himself to be open for her.

Maybe it wasn't even a choice. Maybe she brought this out in him.

And wasn't that a tempting idea.

To be needed would be a nice change of pace. For so long she had been a footnote in the history of important men. The bastard daughter of a displaced royal heir. The woman who triggered a high profile divorce. She was a brilliant mistake, but never someone who was given a place at the table.

Maybe it would be different this time, she thought, even as the cynical part of her mind knew that expectations only led to disappointment.

When she walked out to find Wilson, and maybe offer to repay him for this morning, he was sitting at the now righted dining room table, and next to him was a plate for her.

No maybe - this time was different, and she couldn't hold herself back from hugging his neck from behind.

"This is delicious," she said after a forkful.

"I'm glad you like it. I wasn't sure what to make for you, so I just figured I'd make what I do every day."

Vanessa took another sip of the chicory coffee that tasted so fresh that she would have sworn that they were in the French Quarter.

"You cook?"

He looked away, "Mostly just breakfast. It is hard to make dinners for one."

"I don't even use my oven. I started storing books in it since I was running out of room. This is exceptional, Wilson."

He opened his mouth, but then closed it quickly. She smiled at him, giving him the confidence to say what was on his mind.

"Maybe you should have breakfast here more often," he whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

"I hope I didn't cost you a sale," Wilson said, thinking back to the awkward conversation with the lawyer.

They were having sushi for lunch at one of the only places in the city that he found acceptable. Living in Japan for so long meant that he was used to fresh and high quality fish instead of the concoctions fried and coated in sauce that passed for a meal in the states.

"The gallery has never been busier. Nobody actually buys anything. They just all want to come see the girlfriend of the mysterious Wilson Fisk. I should call myself an installation and sell tickets."

He had ordered them an assortment of simple rolls, along with a selection of sashimi. His hands were deft with the chopsticks, he kept a pair of handmade ones here that had been designed for his larger hands.

"I have no idea how you do that," Vanessa sighed, clumsily trying to get her own sticks properly placed.

"Here," he said, dipping a piece of the toro barely into the soy sauce and then holding it in front of Vanessa.

"You could help me learn how to use these."

"Now where's the fun in that?"

Her eyes closed and she sighed at the taste. He was watching carefully, knowing that her reaction to the fatty tuna would be expressive. It was a perfect food experience, a density that melted in the mouth leaving behind an umami flavor on the back of the mouth. It was a rare delicacy, not even listed on menus since it was in such short supply.

He took a piece for himself, and then prepared a piece of salmon roll for her, a tiny bit of wasabi on top.

"Lunch was a bad idea," she said, after another piece.

He stiffened. "I'm sorry, do you need to get back to work?"

"No. Well, yes, but that isn't the problem. It's that watching you with those, it is very distracting."

Vanessa took his hand that was holding the chopsticks and drew it to her lips, kissing one of the sticks and then the finger, and finally his palm.

"Have I mentioned how much I like your hands?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

His answer was interrupted by a knock at the door and Wesley's voice. "Sir, a moment please."

"Later," he yelled, at the same time Vanessa said "Come in."

She only smiled at his glare, kissing his palm again. Wesley came in with his eyes lowered, clearly not wanting to interrupt anything.

"Leland is outside. He says it is urgent. About the Japanese and their demands."

Wilson's fist clenched. "It can wait."

Vanessa shook her head. "No, take care of it now. I need to get back to the gallery. We have a new artist opening next week and there are so many things to do."

"Can it wait?" Wilson asked, pleading.

Vanessa nodded, and as Wesley opened the door to leave the sound of Leland's complaints were audible.

"I'm sorry," Wilson said, "but I just need time with you. Just a little bit of time to recharge. I'm not used to having so many meetings. So many conversations."

"And having a conversation with me makes those things easier to deal with?"

Wilson fed Vanessa another piece of raw salmon as he struggled to explain his feelings. "Time with you reminds me of what it is like to be myself. Not Wilson Fisk, the savior of Hell's Kitchen." Not Wilson Fisk, thug working up the organization, he said to himself. With Vanessa he found a place where he could be himself after so many years of pretending to be what others expected of him.

"I need you, Vanessa. Need to be around you. In fact, I've been thinking about how I want to be around you more."

She reached for her water taking a long sip and avoiding his gaze. Clearly she didn't want him to say what he was thinking, but he'd promised her honesty at one point. Honesty even in things she apparently would rather avoid.

"I was thinking that it would be good if we could spend more time together. I mean, we are both so busy now. You have work and I have these benefits. We can't even get through lunch without someone trying to come in and interrupt."

In his pocket was a ring. One that he had from long before he had ever met her. It was a sentimental token, something from his first job back in the old neighborhood when he was home one summer. He'd been picked for his size, someone to make sure the smash part of the smash-and-grab went according to plan. He'd been given it as his share but he hadn't sold it. Diamonds were worthless in the resale market, and he figured that he could get more trading it to someone who didn't know better. Maybe even get the jewel removed and turn it into something for his Mom.

Every other person got rounded up in that bust because they had sold the proceeds to a pawn broker who was working as an informant.

After that it became something of a lucky charm.

There were a hundred reasons not to ask her. It was too soon. He was embarking on a breathtaking criminal enterprise. She could clearly do better. He hadn't planned on asking. Not consciously. But he had brought the ring out of the safety deposit box it had stayed in for decades, so maybe he had been planning this all along.

Wilson's normally deep voice was barely audible. "Vanessa, what would you think about becoming my…?"

"Decorator."

"That wasn't what I was going to…"

"It isn't ideal. I know. It gets tricky when you start to combine the personal and the professional. Women who get paid to spend time with men are generally called whores. Or even worse, wives."

The only sound in the room was their breathing. Vanessa pointed to the last piece of toro, "can I have that?"

Robotically he prepared and lifted the fish to her lips. His hands were less sure now, and he dropped the fish into the soy sauce, ruining it completely.

He dropped the chopsticks, and looked at the door. "I should be getting to Leland. I'll have Wesley take you back to the gallery."

He stood up, his hands balling into fists. Vanessa's much smaller hand reached for his, barely covering half of it.

"I've never told you about my father," she said

"No, you haven't." He shoved her hand away, instinctively wanting to run away from the room and from her. He felt a surge of anger at his thwarted plans, swiftly followed by sickness over allowing himself to get angry at her. He wouldn't be his father. He wouldn't let his feelings harm others. He placed one hand on the back of her chair and let the other rest on her shoulder.

He gave her a squeeze to encourage her to continue her story.

"The man isn't really worth mentioning. I didn't even meet him until I was 14. And I ran from his house the first moment the opportunity presented itself. But the one thing he always impressed upon me was that the single greatest accomplishment I could ever achieve was becoming a wife. I had the best teachers and the finest clothes all so that one day I could become a piece of consideration given to demonstrate a contract between two men."

Wilson leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

"You see, Wilson, for a woman marriage is a tradition of bondage. You can't change the nature of something with greeting card sentiments and good intentions. The nature of the thing will always come through."

It wasn't what he wanted. That wasn't important. What mattered, Wilson told himself, is what happened after you failed.

"So," he said with all the energy as if it had been his plan all along, "decorator. For the new properties, and of course the Union Allied offices. A job with a little more flexibility in scheduling?"

She agreed readily, and he made the arrangements. He also told himself that the ring should go back into the vault, but he didn't want to part with it just yet. Maybe just keep it around. For good luck. With the man in black still running around he could use all the luck that he could get.


	3. Chapter 3

There is a myth of a gentleman gangster. This is the idea perpetuated by films that the mafia leaves the families of their members alone, at least until the third act when the antagonist goes too far and can no longer be redeemed. Some people thought Wilson Fisk had crossed that line when he killed Don Rigaletto's wife along with the old man, but in truth the line was never there to begin with. The family members of those in this life aren't collateral damage but primary targets. After all, to kill a man because he owes you a debt means giving up on the money. Kill one of his children and you can find the account settled very swiftly. Fisk didn't invent these methods. He did perfect them. Discovered that the threat was enough when done in a properly dramatic fashion. Much cleaner for everyone involved.

A man with no connections was immune to attack. That was why Wilson told everyone that his mother was dead. After all, he had no connections that anyone could leverage against him. No wife, no girlfriend, no mistress, or boyfriend, or family at all.

It was easy enough to make Marlene Fisk disappear. She was never noticed much even when she was young. No church attendance or PTA meetings or friends who she talked with on the stoop. Her only hobby was the movies, sitting alone in a dark theater living the lives of the people on the screen. She'd read novels and watch Ryan's Hope every weekday afternoon. Her husbands were always the ones who people knew, and she was just the poor nameless wife.

The hardest part had been not seeing her. While Wilson was in Asia building up his business he couldn't simply fly back to New York for no reason. He had been the one to volunteer to travel to the city when a job would come up, but that began to look suspicious and he had to wait to be asked. He had arranged for monthly payments for her to allow her all the movies she wanted to see. Later on he made sure she had cable, and all the movie channels, and as many books as she wanted. What he couldn't give her was an in-person visit. Not until he was further up in the organization. Not until people had forgotten that Wilson Fisk had ever had a mother.

By the time he could finally see her for any significant time, Wilson's Fisk mother had seemed to forget him. Her apartment was a mess of candy bar wrappers and the television set was stuck on The Weather Channel because she couldn't remember how to change the station. A good diet and some medications seemed to help bring her back enough that she understood that the soft spoken man who towered over her was little Willy, but she would be in decline again soon. No amount of medical treatment could cure what was wrong. They couldn't even place a name to it. Alzheimer's was certainly a possibility, but dementia looked similar in people who had suffered head injuries in the past. And Wilson could only reach for his cufflinks, toying with them nervously, when the doctor explained how Bill Fisk was still haunting them.

Since being back in the city, Wilson became dedicated to seeing his mother weekly. Wesley would actually pick her up from the facility, an extra layer of protection to keep their connection hidden, and then drive her to the Sunday brunch at the Rolling Hills Country Club where Wilson would be waiting. They used to take her to the movies, an old theater that showed a classic double feature on the weekends, but she didn't like being out that long anymore. "I need to get back to my house," she'd say, "they can't get anything right without me there to supervise."

Today would be different thought. Today, he was bringing someone for his mother to meet. It was the first time Wilson had ever introduced a romantic partner to Mother, the first time he'd really had anyone to introduce. Logically he understood that it should be nerve wracking, but there was no fear. Marlene would love Vanessa, because how could anyone not fall under her spell, and then would talk about old movies for the rest of the meal.

Vanessa, on the other hand, was not so calm. She was in the bathroom putting her eyelashes through some type of torture device and then sighing when it apparently didn't work correctly.

"You look lovely," Wilson said, talking to her reflection in the large vanity mirror, "but won't you be cold?" She was wearing a strapless sundress that flounced outwards at the hips. It was different from her typical structured style, but he hadn't asked her about the change. What she felt like wearing was little consequence to him, as long as she was happy.

"It was supposed to warm up today. I suppose I could wear the jacket from last night, but it will ruin the silhouette."

"This wouldn't be a problem if you just moved your stuff here," he suggested, trying to make his voice sound playful. But it still sounded too much like he was pressuring her into something, and so he quickly added, "Or we can just swing by your apartment. It's no problem."

She turned around to kiss his cheek. "We'll be inside the restaurant and the car. I'm sure I won't freeze in the walk between the two."

Vanessa looked at herself one last time with a critical eye. "I've never met a mother before," she said, as she smoothed the skirt of the dress. "Do I look the part?"

"What part is that?"

She shrugged, "I'm not sure. The picture of the supportive partner. Feminine, flirty, appropriately doting and meek."

"Meek? Not exactly a word I'd ever use to describe you, thankfully."

"You really are different from most men, Wilson. Thankfully."

Vanessa hadn't been lying about never having met a mother before. Even her own mother was unknown, and she'd never had any interest in meeting the families of her lovers. When she was younger it was rebellion after so many years of being told that her only redeeming quality was the man she would one day marry. When she'd escaped her father's home she wanted to prove that she was more than that. She became the antithesis of the woman they had tried to mold her into. Brash and outspoken. Fearless and opinionated. She fucked who she wanted and reveled in the stares she would get as her reputation spread.

Age didn't bring any regrets, but it did make her realize that blind rebellion was still allowing her father to control her actions in some way. So, she learned to love her solitude. She would walk around Paris at midnight looking at couples in love and feeling only joy for the possibilities of the world. Vanessa still was fearless and opinionated, but it was now more refined.

And yet, some things never changed. The voice in her head that she could mostly ignore still sounded like her father, and still said that what men wanted most was a mother to their child and a trophy to their friends.

"She looks like Audrey Hepburn."

Marlene couldn't stop cooing over Vanessa, having already compared her to Myrna Loy, Vivian Leigh, and Elizabeth Taylor. Brunch was going well, at least once they had convinced Wesley to stay. Marlene complimented everything from the eggs, to the waiter, and the other people in the room. "Everyone is just so lovely. It's like I'm in Grand Hotel. It's so nice."

She turned to her son, smiling. "And don't James and his girlfriend make a good couple."

Wilson played with his napkin in his hands nervously. "Mother, Vanessa is my girlfriend."

If this news made an impact she didn't show it, instead eating another bit of pancake and praising it as the best she's ever had.

Vanessa let her leg stretch under the table, rubbing Wilson's leg slightly. "It's okay," she mouthed while smiling at him. It was so strange watching him around his mother, acting so much like a little boy, fidgeting and slouching. Wilson hated being around people, but she was beginning to suspect that was because he was so highly empathic to what was expected from him. She'd seen for himself how he could change on a dime from charming lover to fearless leader to cold boss. He was a mirror, reflecting back whoever was in front of him. No wonder crowds made him nervous, he must feel like a chameleon on tartan trying to figure out what color to match.

"Marlene," Vanessa said, changing the topic, "Have you seen your son in the newspapers? He had become quite the celebrity."

The small old woman frowned, pushing her fork around the plate. "No. Willy can't be in the papers. Need to make sure that people don't find out. They wouldn't understand. People can be so cruel."

"Mother," Wilson whispered.

"Need to send him away. Willy has to get out of the city. Someplace where he can't hurt anyone else."

Wesley straightened up in his seat, trying to get Vanessa's attention. "Marlene gets this way. Starts talking about things from movies and…"

"She knows," Wilson said, as Marlene continued to talk to herself.

"It's not his fault. Not really. But it is still a sin. Thou shall not kill."

Wilson had his eyes closed, his fingers toying with his cufflinks. Not his father's anymore, Vanessa had banished those permanently, but the old tic came back in moments of stress.

Vanessa felt her vision blur as a feeling of rage fell over her. She didn't worry about anyone hurting Wilson when he would disappear in the middle of the night. She didn't fret when he would come home with blood on his hands. He was a powerful man who could clearly take care of himself.

But his heart…that was not so well protected. And seeing it threatened made her furious, even as some rational part tried to remind her that the old woman had no idea what she was doing.

"I've never cared for the 10 Commandments," Vanessa said, her voice perfectly rising. "Coveting things, well why not if nobody gets hurt? A good bit of coveting can be inspiring now and then. Honor your parents? That one I really never understood. They are the ones who should honor their children. They created them which makes them responsible for protecting them."

The older woman looked directly at her with something that Vanessa thought was respect. "You know who James' girlfriend looks like- Ava Gardner."

Yelling at an old woman, one who didn't know what she was saying, was truly not any great way to make an impression. The room suddenly felt too small, and Vanessa stood up without a word. Outside was a large patio filled with men puffing on cigars and looking out onto the rolling green vistas. It was terrible standing there with the smell of smoke and the eyes of old men looking her over as gooseflesh pimpled along her bare skin. It was still better than sitting at the table where she'd just embarrassed herself in front of Wilson and the people most important to him.

It was suddenly much warmer, and Vanessa found herself wrapped in a large grey suit jacket. "I told you that you'd freeze"

Vanessa leaned her head back, letting if rest on Wilson's unyielding chest. They didn't talk for minutes. Not until she couldn't take it any longer and asked the question that was tightening around her chest. "Do you hate me?"

"Why would I hate you?"

"Oh, there's so many reasons. For screaming at your mother. For yelling at a sick old lady. For snapping at your sick old mother. For generally behaving like some type of monster."

"You're not a monster," he said, softly into her right ear. His breath was so warm that she wanted to shed the jacket. "She's not one either, you know. She did what she thought was best."

Vanessa had no idea what Wilson looked like as a boy. If she tried to imagine him in her head it was fuzzy and indistinct. She could imagine the scene around him though. She could envision the little boy spending nights in a row carting bags of meat and bone to the river. "A mother disposes of bodies herself. She takes the life of whoever is hurting her child. That's what a mother does."

"Could you do that?" he asked.

"I don't know." Vanessa shrugged out of the jacket and handed it back to him. He was watching her carefully, as if she was a gun trained at his chest that could kill him at any moment. "But that's why I don't have children."

The next question never came. Instead they walked back inside and finished brunch. Vanessa even made Wesley blush when she kissed him on the cheek after Marlene mentioned how adorable they were. They didn't mention what Vanessa had said, or the conversation on the patio. Or anything else until they were back in the city.

"Can you walk me up?" she asked when they reached her apartment. While the penthouse was all glass and minimalism, her apartment was an eclectic collection pieces that she loved. They shouldn't go together, but they did. On the walls were pieces- mostly modern but a few sketches in different styles. A few that he could tell were sketches of Vanessa, and he suddenly wished that he had any type of artistic skill at all.

"I need some help. That suitcase, in the loft area, can you reach it for me?"

He pulled it down with ease and sat it on her bed. "Anything else?"

She nodded, pulling open a drawer and grabbing a handful of undergarments, "I think I can get most of the clothes from the dresser. But pick out a few of the dresses from the closet. Three or four days should be enough. I can have the rest over to our apartment by then."

That was the first night Wilson Fisk slept through the night since he was a child.


	4. Chapter 4

Killing Leland had been a mistake.

Not the actual killing. The man had to die for what he had done. But it should have been handled better. He could have let him go long enough to find Hoffman and remove the threat. Or maybe arranged for someone to kidnap Lee before the meeting to induce a little bit of leverage for a trade. Wilson had let his emotions overpower his reason, and now he was vulnerable. If Hoffman went to the feds before they could find him then everything he had worked for would be ruined.

Maybe Leland and Gao were right, Vanessa had made him careless.

Then again, if she hadn't come into his life he wouldn't even be so close to realizing everything. Hell's Kitchen could never be what he wanted as long as the Russians were allowed to continue their operations. He couldn't have gotten this far from the shadows. The press conference made these things finally come together.

That was all Vanessa.

When he had been living out on the farm he had entertained himself with books. There hadn't been much selection. The closest library was the next county over, and his Aunt only read cookbooks. He'd been at a loss until he'd uncovered a trunk in the attic that had belonged to his grandfather filled with his collection of favorite novels. The man had died before Wilson was ever born, but through those books he shaped Wilson's life. The Call of the Wild taught him that civilization only temporarily hid the animal inside everyone. The Grapes of Wrath showed how hard times created great men. In The Great Gatsby he found the image of a self-made man of wealth and taste. Of Mice and Men was a lesson in how violence was sometimes the kindest thing one person could do for another.

He'd read through the books over and over until the pages were falling out and the hardback spines were cracked and bent. These were his friends and role models. And none of them were closer to him than All the King's Men.

He was 25 before he even connect that the character at the center of his favorite book shared his nickname. Then again, he's never seen himself as Willie Stark. Wilson's size had always made physical power something he understood, lessons imparted by his father, and intellectual power was respected by his mother. But the power that he could never quite understand was the gravitational pull of charisma and charm. That was the power that Willie Stark.

It was Jack Landing, the poetic narrator searching for meaning in a world, who he always connected with. At least until he read the book at 25, alone and in Japan as the bodyguard for a man he hated, that he began to see Stark as a man who he could be if he tried.

It took effort and planning for Wilson to actually connect with people. It didn't ever come off naturally, at least not until the day he met Vanessa. Oh, he was still nervous and awkward. But there were also moments when something would come over him in her presence. When she teased him about buying out the gallery his first instinct has been to slink away. Instead he realized he was practically touching her and saying a line that sounded like something Cary Grant would have said in a movie.

Vanessa inspired this part of him that had been cocooned away until the day she walked up to him in the gallery. It was a man who was debonair and dangerous. The type of man who was meant to rule the city and have a Queen by his side.

That was what Gao and Leland didn't understand. Killing Vanessa wouldn't make him go back to who he used to be. That man was gone. If they didn't like the new Wilson Fisk they could get rid of him, or at least take their shot.

A line from All the King's Men echoed in his head – "For when you get in love you are made all over again." That was what had happened. Vanessa had made him into a new man.

"Vanessa," he said, calling her on the cell, "I'm on my way home, what should I pick up for dinner."

"Nothing," she said, and he could picture her smiling. "I actually made dinner for you."

"You made dinner?"

"Don't sound so shocked. I'm not some helpless spoiled princess. I can manage a meal."

"You tried to use the toaster one morning and started a fire."

"Don't worry, I didn't make toast."

Worst case senarios kept running through his head. Explosions. Gas leaks. Using soap on one of the cast iron skillets. When he walked into the penthouse he thought he had prepared himself for any sight, but he was wrong. This, he wasn't ready for.

The lights were dim, and candles were on the table, and the love duet from Der fliegende Holländer was playing softly through the speaker system. Vanessa walked in from the kitchen, a plate of fetuchini alfredo in each hand.

"Welcome home, Wilson," she said, before coming to his side to remove his overcoat. He was flummoxed, too confused to do more than stand still while she pulled the heavy jacket off and went to hang it in the closet.

"What's the occasion," he finally asked.

Vanessa led him to the table, seating him at the head and then pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I got some good news today. I had my final check with Doctor Rosenberg, and he said that I'm fit to resume normal activities."

Wilson Fisk had never been seduced before, or else he would have recognized the setting for what it was. He would have noticed the way Vanessa's eyebrows raised when she said "resume normal activities" and the fact that she'd chosen to wear red lingerie underneath her thin white cotton dress.

But Wilson Fisk didn't notice any of this, and instead asked about permanent nerve damage.

"There might be problems down the road," she admitted, sitting down next to him, "but without knowing what the toxin is they can't be sure."

"And the other issues. They mentioned liver damage in the hospital."

"I forgot the wine." A few minutes later she was back with two glasses or red. She stared at him as he sipped it. Her focus was making him flustered, and he was self-conscious as he took a bite of the pasta. Finally, he asked her what she was doing.

"I'm just waiting to see if you notice anything about this dinner. The meal. The wine. Anything familiar?"

"Jesus, Vanessa, if you want something just tell me because I can't spend my time guessing at what I'm supposed to do." He'd never snapped at her before, and immediately he apologized, taking her hand in his own. "It's been a long day. I am taking it out on you, and I shouldn't. Please, forgive me."

She brought their intertwined hands to her lips. "I was being selfish. I was so excited to finally be better that I didn't even think that you might not be in the mood to celebrate."

Wilson looked at Vanessa and then at the candles. "Ah," he said as the pieces fell into place. "By celebrate you mean…"

"Yes. So, I ordered dinner from the restaurant we had that first date. Same wine too. I was thinking that maybe we could re-create it with a better ending this time. But, you clearly have your mind on other things."

He was going to disagree with that statement when his phone rang. He was going to ignore it, but it was one of the team searching for Hoffman. He apologized and answered the phone. Francis had a lead, but the man wanted more money. It was the type of issue Wesley would have known how to handle, but Wesley wasn't here. Francis might one day become a good substitute, but in the meantime he needed too much handholding. Wilson approved the expense, making it clear that time was of the essence. "We don't know the last time he called in, but the best case is 20 hours. After that it is all over."

When he hung up Vanessa was looking at him pointedly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he said automatically. He needed to talk about it though. His best thinking came from talking out loud, usually to Wesley, but sometimes Leland. He was running out of sounding boards, and Vanessa was so good at these things.

"Actually," he said, "There was a bit of a problem today. I had to kill Leland."

"That doesn't sound like a problem. I never liked that man. He was smarmy."

Wilson nodded, taking a sip of wine. "Well, he wasn't your biggest fan either. Turns out he was the one who tried to kill you at the benefit."

If Vanessa was shocked at the admission she didn't show it, and he was watching very closely for any reaction. If this conversation started to upset her at any point he would stop. His need to vent was not more important than her comfort.

"Leland hardly seems smart enough to pull that off on his own, who else was involved?"

"One of my business associates, Gao. And tracking her down is going to be a problem since she…well, let's just say she isn't from around here. But there is a bigger problem in the meantime. Leland had an insurance policy. A witness who I thought had been handled."

"So, you're in danger?"

Yes.

That would have been the truth. A ticking time clock. A group of Japanese ninjas who blamed him for the death of their leader. An inter-dimensional being who had tried to kill the woman next to him. Wesley's killer still unknown. And on top of it all some masked vigilante trying to take him out. Yes, he was in danger. And even if the pendulum missed him this time, it seemed inevitable that it would get him eventually.

"No," he lied. "This is just a little hiccup. But it isn't anything we need to worry about. Not when we have so much to celebrate."

When it all came crashing down she could be furious at him for minimizing the true danger. But if doom came tomorrow then they would celebrate tonight.


End file.
